


Simple, Really

by Malu_3 (Grainne)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mind Control, S4e12, Sharing Body Heat, Simpleton!Arthur, Slight body issues, canon AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 21:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grainne/pseuds/Malu_3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow, Arthur knew that as long as he stuck close to Merlin, everything would be fine. The bad men wouldn't find them. The people would survive, and someday... Someday they'd go back to the warmth of the city and make everything right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simple, Really

**Author's Note:**

> Written for at kmm prompt which requested S4e12 Merlin having to deal with a Simpleton!Arthur who is a bit of a cuddleslut and looking for warmth and comfort in the dark scary woods. Dedicated to Mizufae, who introduced me to Cuddleslut! Arthur long before the series put him in tight, short pants and told him to have a go at the nearest willing tree trunk.

* * *

Arthur remembered being warm. He remembered steaming baths, layers of quilted padding beneath heavy mail and a thick, soft cloak. He remembered a great featherbed, piled high with cushions, and a chest full of spare blankets. Now, though…

True warmth, Arthur decided, lived in the city, and they'd left the city behind. Something terrible had happened in the city – to the city – and they'd had to flee, along with the rest of the people.

Now they were in the woods, which were damp. And dark. And _cold._

Arthur shivered, arms crossed over his bare stomach, shifting from one foot to the other. Leaves brushed against his ankles. Twigs poked between the straps of his sandals, nasty little fingers that threatened to trip him up and drag him away.

He closed his eyes, hugged himself tighter and tried thinking of more warm, comforting things.

It had been warm inside the carriage, but it had bumped along so, full of musty bags and boxes with sharp corners that bit and jabbed. He'd been eager to get out of the carriage. Then Merlin had introduced him to that nice tree.

Arthur smiled, thinking of the tree.

It had been still and fragrant and not too scratchy – and free of woodworm, he'd done a thorough check – but it hadn’t been very warm. And unfortunately Arthur wasn't a horse; he was rubbish at sleeping standing up.

Arthur sighed. He was rubbish at everything, apparently. Perhaps it'd be better if he were a horse. At least then he'd be useful. And _warm._

It had been pleasant, rubbing down the horses. Their flanks had fairly radiated heat. They'd nibbled and nosed at him, searching for treats. Their whiskery muzzles had tickled, but their breath had felt nice gusting against his skin.

Maybe he should go back to the horses. That was the warmest he'd been all day, except for at supper, by the fire. Fire was warmer than horses, no question. The trouble with fire was that it only heated one side at a time. His front had been nice and toasty at supper, but a chill had settled between his shoulder blades and in the small of his back. If only there was a way to make the fire go all the way around…

If he were a sausage, he could put himself on a spit and spin until he was cooked on all sides, but he wasn't a sausage. He _felt_ a bit like a sausage, stuffed into these clothes, but what else could he expect? He was obviously of abnormal size. He was a great, bumbling turniphead, just like Merlin had said, and he'd probably never be warm again.

Blinking back tears, Arthur opened his eyes.

Thoughts of warm things hadn't helped at all. He was still standing in a clump of shrubbery in the dark, damp woods, and he was still so bloody cold.

Wait. Why, exactly, was he standing in a clump of shrubbery?

Oh, right. He was supposed to be listening.

He'd tripped on his way back from seeing to the horses. Tripped _again,_ because he was so clumsy, and gotten turned around in the dark. He'd stopped to listen, hoping for a clue that would lead him back to Merlin, and then he'd started fretting, thinking about the bad men who were looking for them and how cold he was. Which had led to thinking about warm things.

Arthur redoubled his listening efforts. He heard rustlings and drippings and an eerie cry overhead, but no bright shout of, "Arthur, over here!"

A hollow, miserable feeling settled in his chest. He'd just have to spend the night in the shrubbery and hope Merlin would find him in the – wait! What was that?

It sounded like someone snoring. Better still, it sounded like _Merlin_ snoring.

Arthur turned, stumbling blindly towards the sound. Branches clawed at his clothing and stung his face, but he didn't mind, because that sound was definitely...

"Merlin!"

Arthur stopped short of the clearing, clapping a hand over his mouth. Oops. He didn't want to wake Merlin. That would make him cross.

Arthur pushed aside a low branch and peered through the leaves, giving a sigh of relief when Merlin's eyes remained closed. He was stretched out on his back beside the fire, head pillowed on his pack. He looked pink-cheeked and lovely and not at all cross. He also looked very warm, what with all his layers of clothing _and_ a blanket.

Arthur must have forgotten to bring his own blanket. He supposed he did that all the time, forgot things. It served him right, then, shivering in the bushes while – 

No, that wasn't it. He hadn't forgotten his blanket; he hadn’t had time to fetch it because they'd had to leave the city in a hurry.

So perhaps Merlin would be willing to share?

He shuffled forward a few steps, then lost his nerve. Merlin looked so peaceful, brow smooth and mouth hanging open. Arthur was loath to disturb him; he'd already been enough of a burden today. He should just find his way back to the horses and hope they'd let him huddle between them for the night.

But… Damn. There was the sleeping-while-standing problem again. If he could even get to sleep, he'd likely topple over in the night and wind up getting trampled. Merlin wouldn't want him to be trampled to death, would he?

Arthur knew he was annoying, but he hadn't done anything too stupid in the past hour – apart from all the tripping and getting lost and crying in the shrubbery, but Merlin didn't need to know about that – and he'd completed all the chores he'd been given.

 _Rinse bowls. Rinse pot. Rub down horses._

Arthur went over it three times, making certain he hadn’t left anything out. Wait. Had he been supposed to fetch more wood? 

No, Merlin hadn’t said anything about wood. Arthur was probably only thinking about wood because of the fire, which was still crackling away merrily. It was too bad he wasn't a sausage. There was a perfect spit stick poking him in the hip.

 _Two_ fires. That was what he needed. Two fires and a dry patch of ground between them, that would – 

No, not two fires; one fire and _Merlin!_

In his excitement, Arthur let go of the branch, which sprang back and thwacked him in the face. He ducked, stifling a yelp.

If he could just get between Merlin and the fire, then he'd be plenty warm. It would be like being between the horses, except lying down, and Merlin smelled much better than the horses, even his feet. Arthur remembered that. He'd slept beside Merlin in a cottage once.

Determined, Arthur fought his way free of the branches. Maybe he wasn't such a dollophead after all. He clambered over a fallen log and edged towards Merlin.

With a rush of disappointment, Arthur saw the flaw in his plan. He'd never fit between Merlin and the fire. He was much too fat.

Maybe, though, just maybe he could sit down and sort of wriggle one leg in there, or an arm, and then maybe Merlin would roll over and –

"Gnur... Arthur?"

Arthur froze.

"Arthur, what are you – get your foot out of my face. Why are your feet _always_ in my face?"

Arthur scooted back, away from Merlin's flailing arms, and hugged his knees to his chest.

"Sorry, sorry! Didn't mean to wake you. I'm so very _cold_ though, and you looked nice and warm and the fire doesn't get both sides and I don't want the horses to trample me, so I thought... um. Can I sleep with you, please?"

Merlin propped himself up on his elbows. He definitely looked cross now, but Arthur thought he still looked sort of lovely. Lovely and fierce.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said again, this time in a whisper.

Merlin shook his head, muttering something about wonders and ceasing and horribly undersized peasants. Puzzled, Arthur waited until he'd finished. Then he gathered his courage and repeated his request.

"So, can I? Sleep with you? I'm grateful for these clothes, but a lot of me seems, well, naked." Arthur splayed his limbs out, glancing down in dismay. His thighs looked like trussed hams, and his pale belly bulged above the too-tight breeches. He gave himself a disconsolate poke. 

When he looked up, Merlin was staring at him, eyes wide.

"I know," Arthur said, sighing. "It's my fault for being so large. And I should have packed a blanket. But there was... something bad happened, didn't it? There wasn't time. But I suppose that is no excuse. I should have been better prepared. Next time I'll – "

"Oh, _Arthur."_

Merlin's whole face crumpled. He looked so unhappy that Arthur ducked his head, unable to watch. Terrific. He'd made Merlin cross _and_ unhappy. He was such a disaster. No wonder everyone always left him.

"Arthur, come here."

Arthur looked up, wary. Merlin still had a funny look on his face, but he'd rolled onto one side and was gesturing towards the blanket. "Come on. In you get."

Arthur grinned. He didn't need to be told twice. He tumbled forward eagerly, intent on climbing over Merlin to get nearer the fire. He'd only made it partway, one thigh slung over Merlin's hips, when Merlin grabbed him painfully by the hair, shoving him away.

"No, gods, not there – get in _behind_ me, you great lump."

"But the fire – "

"Will burn you."

Arthur pawed at Merlin's hip, trying to get him to move back, so there would be more room next to the fire. "But I want – "

"It's not up for discussion," Merlin snapped, jerking away from Arthur's touch. His cheeks were very red, as were the tips of his ears.

Chastened, Arthur backed off and slunk in behind him, lying as close as he dared without actually touching. Merlin tugged the blanket up around their shoulders and flopped down, back to Arthur.

Like this, the blanket didn’t quite cover Arthur's backside. Cold air seeped in and crept up along his spine.

He was trying to figure out a way to mention this without making Merlin angry again, when Merlin lifted his head. Without looking, he nudged his pack towards Arthur.

"Here," he said. "Pillow for turniphead."

Arthur cautiously gathered the pack and settled it beneath his head. "Thank you."

Merlin grunted.

"I really am sorry. I'll try to do better tomorrow."

Merlin grunted again.

"But, well, the blanket doesn't quite reach all the way around. Would you mind if I – " Arthur slowly moved one leg forward, just resting it against Merlin.

Merlin heaved a sigh. "Really, Arthur? Even half-naked, you've got more padding than I do."

He sounded more tired than angry though, so Arthur took a chance and squirmed closer.

"I know, but… Merlin, I've been so cold. Cold and worried. Ever since we left the city." He reached out, tentatively pushing his fingers into the seam between Merlin's arm and his body. "But you're lovely and warm, and I know you'll keep me safe."

Merlin made a sort of strangled sound, but he lifted his arm, allowing Arthur to thread his through and pull Merlin flush against his chest.

"Fine. Just. Settle down, all right?"

Arthur bent his legs, slotting them beneath Merlin's bottom, and tucked the blanket in behind him. He hummed happily as Merlin's body heat soaked into his cold skin.

"See, isn't this nice?" he murmured, slipping his hand beneath Merlin's jacket and idly rubbing his chest. "So warm. All the parts fit. Simple, really."

Merlin twitched. "Ugh, Arthur, you reek of horse."

"Mmm. Yes, they were warm, but not as warm as you." Merlin felt tense, so Arthur rubbed a bit more vigorously, trying to soothe him as he had the horses.

At first Merlin held his breath, but when Arthur pushed his fingers between his tunic laces, it all came out in a great rush.

"Er, Arthur?" Merlin plucked at Arthur's fingers. "What – "

"So, so warm." Arthur tugged the laces this way and that until they gave. He slid his whole hand inside Merlin's tunic, finding smooth skin and, lower, a patch of downy hair. "And fuzzy. I always forget you're a little fuzzy, Merlin. 'S nice. Soothing."

Merlin froze for a moment, his fingers hot on Arthur's wrist, but then he sighed, muttered something, and pulled his hand away. Soon he relaxed back against Arthur, and Arthur began rubbing slow circles on his chest.

It was all very peaceful until Arthur grazed a nipple, the soft skin pulling into a tight, wrinkled nub under his fingertips. Arthur snickered. Nipples were funny that way. They always puckered in the cold, but sometimes they did it for no reason at all.

Merlin tensed up again, his hips shifting against Arthur's lap. "Ah, Arthur, that's… maybe you should… oh god, _horses._ Sweaty, sweaty horses."

"Huh?"

"You." Merlin batted at his wrist. "Smell of sweaty horses. And, um… soup. Old soup."

"Oh, sorry," Arthur said, moving his hand. He sniffed at himself, shrugged, then dipped his nose into the gap between Merlin's scarf and collar. He took a deep breath. "You smell nice though. All smoky. And herby. Like the tree, only better."

Merlin gave a very high-pitched giggle.

There had been a girl, Arthur remembered. A girl who had smelled somewhat herby, but mostly like flowers and, on occasion, a bit like Cook. He'd always liked the way she'd smelled, but it hadn't given him this same sort of flutter, low in his belly. And she had left him, hadn't she? She had gone away.

Arthur squeezed his thighs together and nuzzled closer, rubbing his cheek against Merlin's thick, fragrant hair. "Merlin," he whispered, "you won't ever go away, will you?"

"No, Arthur, I – _oh."_

"Merlin, you're shivering. Did I let in the cold? I'm so sorry. Here." Arthur guiltily rearranged Merlin's tunic, trying his best to tug the laces closed with one hand. He gave Merlin's chest a brisk rub. When he tried to skim his hand down to give his belly and thighs a similar treatment, however, Merlin yelped and grabbed his hand, yanking it back up to his chest.

"Arthur, _please."_ Merlin's voice sounded strained.

"What is it, Merlin? What's wrong?" Arthur pushed himself up on his elbow, peering over Merlin's shoulder. His eyes were screwed shut, and there was a little thicket of wrinkles between his eyebrows. His lips were parted, and he was only taking in air in shallow sips. "Are you ill?"

"No. I'm fine," Merlin whispered. "Just stop. Stop moving."

Arthur froze in place. "Like this?"

Merlin shivered again and sucked in a deep breath. "No, get your mouth away from – just, stop breathing in my ear, okay? It tickles."

"Oh, okay." Relieved, Arthur gave Merlin a squeeze and snuggled down, pressing his face between his shoulder blades. "Goodnight," he mumbled.

"'Night, Arthur." Merlin's voice was barely there.

At first it was difficult to relax, because Merlin was obviously rattled from the tickling. He was still breathing funny, and every so often he would twitch restlessly. Arthur would have preferred to keep stroking him – he felt a little restless himself – but Merlin had a tight grip on his hand.

Arthur bit his lip and kept as still as possible. He didn’t want to risk making a nuisance of himself. Merlin might get fed up and make him sleep alone, and he didn't want that. Not even if he had all the fires and blankets in the kingdom.

As Merlin's breathing evened out, though, Arthur relaxed. He closed his eyes and smiled into the back of Merlin's coat.

All day he'd been fighting a niggling sense of panic – of getting lost, of being abandoned, of having made some horrible mistake – but it was gone now. Somehow he knew that as long as he stuck close to Merlin, everything would be fine. The bad men wouldn't find them. The people would survive, and someday... 

Someday they'd go back to the warmth of the city and make everything right. 

Without really thinking about it, Arthur began to match his breathing to Merlin's, letting the rhythm carry him towards sleep.

His last, waking thought was that, even when they were back in the city, with hot baths and featherbeds and piles of cushions, he wanted to keep sleeping with Merlin. Just like this. Because baths didn't make his insides feel all hot and fluttery, and cushions didn't hesitantly slide their fingers, one by one, between his and hold them close against a steady, thudding heart.


End file.
